Scuttle

Scuttle (pronounced skuht-l)

(1) In nautical use, a small hatch or port in the deck, side, or bottom of a vessel; a cover for such a hatch; small opening in a boat or ship for draining water from open deck.

(2) A small hatch-like opening in a roof or ceiling that provides access to the roof from the interior of a building.

(3) In nautical use, deliberately to sink one's ship or boat by any means (eg by opening the sea-cocks), usually by order of the vessel's commander or owner.

(4) To abandon, withdraw from, or cause to be abandoned or destroyed (plans, hopes, rumors etc).

(5) To run with quick, hasty steps; scurry; a quick pace; a short, hurried run.

(6) A deep bucket for carrying coal.

(7) In northern British dialectal use, a broad, shallow basket, especially for carrying vegetables; a dish, platter or a trencher (sometimes called scuttle dish).

(8) The part of a motor-car body lying immediately behind the bonnet (hood), called the cowl in the US.

Pre 1050: From the Middle English scutel & scutelle (trencher) and scuttel (dish, basket, winnowing fan), from the Old English scutel (dish, trencher, platter), from the Latin scutella (serving platter; bowl), diminutive of scutra (shallow dish, pan) and (perhaps) the Latin scūtum (shield).  The Latin scutella was the source also of the French écuelle, the Spanish escudilla, the Italian scudella.  It was also a source of much Germanic borrowing, the source of the Old Norse skutill, the Middle Dutch schotel, the Old High German scuzzila and the German Schüssel (a dish).  The Meaning "basket for sifting grain" is attested from the mid-fourteenth century and as a "bucket for holding coal", use dates from 1849.

The sense of a “hole cut in a ship for some purpose” dates from 1490–1500, firstly as “skottell”: Of obscure origin, possibly from the Middle French escoutille, or from the Spanish escotar (to cut out) & escotilla (hatchway), the construct of which was escot & escote (a cutting of cloth) + -illa (a diminutive suffix of Germanic origin).  In the Gothic skaut meant “hem or seam).  Another possible link is to the Middle English scottlynge (scampering), a variant of scuddle and frequentative of scud.  The idea of hatches and holes in ships later extended to automobiles, the scuttle (cowl in the US) the space between the windscreen and bonnet (hood).  The sense of "cutting a hole in a ship to sink it" was first attested in the 1640s, an extension of use from the late-fifteenth century skottell (opening in a ship's deck), either from the French escoutille (which in Modern French is écoutille) or directly from the Spanish escotilla (hatchway), a diminutive of escota (opening in a garment), from escotar (cut out).  Scuttle & scuttling are nouns & verbs, scuttleful is a noun and scuttled is a verb; the noun plural is scuttles.

You're wrong.—He was the mildest manner'd man
That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat:
With such true breeding of a gentleman,
You never could divine his real thought;
No courtier could, and scarcely woman can
Gird more deceit within a petticoat;
Pity he loved adventurous life's variety,
He was so great a loss to good society.

Don Juan (1819–24) canto III, stanza XLI, by Lord Byron (1788–1824)

The figurative use to describe the sense of abandonment or destruction of the planning etc of something is recorded from 1888.  In military use this can be combined with the use of scuttle to describe a rapid, sometimes erratic crab-like walk suggestive of panic; the recent US evacuation from Kabul, would, in more robust times, have been called a scuttle.  The sense of "scamper; scurry" emerged in the mid-fifteenth century, probably related to the verb scud and perhaps influenced by the odd imperfect echoic.

A variation of the scuttle as a hole in the deck was scuttlebutt to describe a "cask of drinking water kept on a ship's deck, having a hole (scuttle) cut in it for a cup or dipper" is from 1805, supplanting the earlier (1777) “scuttle cask”.  Scuttlebutt is first recorded as meaning “rumor; gossip" in 1901 and was nautical slang before coming into general use late in World War I (1914-1918).  The modern corporate form, analogous with “gathering around the scuttlebutt” is the office “water-cooler” conversation.  The idea of information (accurate or otherwise) being associated with drinking water is doubtless as old as prehistoric people gathering at a drinking place and there’s the World War One era “furphy”, a descriptor of a rumor proved wrong, based on its origin being talk exchanged between soldiers having a yarn at one of the army’s Furphy brand water tanks.

Scuttle shake

The term scuttle shake is used to describe the shuddering displayed in many convertible cars, especially when traversing rough or uneven surfaces.   The vibrations happen because, without the strength provided by a fixed-roof, open-top automobiles generally are less structurally rigid than closed vehicles.  It’s called scuttle-shake because, although the scuttle (the area between the bonnet (hood) and the windscreen) is not the only place where the shuddering happens, it’s there where it’s usually most severe, often to the point where other vibrations tend not to be noticed.  The scuttle is affected because the erratic forces are generated through the tyres, to the chassis or frame to the point of the least structural rigidity: the bulkhead atop which sits the scuttle.  There is a transatlantic difference in that what most of the English-speaking world calls a scuttle is a cowl in US use.  Despite that, the term scuttle shake and cowl shake are both used in the US, probably because cars made there were always less susceptible to the phenomenon because the body-engineering standards were higher, Detroit always willing to add more bracing even at the cost of increasing overall weight.  It's speculative but perhaps it became so associated with foreign cars it was just natural to think scuttle and not cowl.

The archetypical scuttle shakers were the Triumph TR roadsters (TR2-TR6 1952-1976), the reputation gained because of the platform’s long life; although the TR6 bore no external resemblance to its earliest antecedents, much the same chassis and body structure underlay them all.  Many contemporaries of the TR2 and TR3 also suffered the problem but most manufacturers went through three or four generations in the quarter century the separate chassis TRs were produced, benefitting from the improvements in design and body engineering which passed by Triumph's aging roadster.  By the time the TR6 entered production in 1969, none of the competition still shook so much; that doesn’t mean that by the late twentieth century the problem went away but it was much ameliorated.  Notably, in the 1980s, generational shift, an improving economy and the non-appearance of the rumored US legislation which would have outlawed convertibles enticed some manufacturers back into the drop-top market so new models appears to demonstrate the difference.  Because volumes would be small, the development costs associated with new models was thought prohibitive so these were usually modified coupés.  Cutting the roof of a closed car is the classic recipe for scuttle shake but the techniques to strengthen structures had much improved over the years and the basic bodies were anyway inherently stronger because of the regulations imposed to improve crashworthiness.  Drivers could certainly tell the difference in body-rigidity but few were anything like a Triumph TR6 (unless it was a Saab 900; the Swedish car's convertible body was famously flexible).

Triumph TR2 (1953-1955).

After a similar looking prototype based on a pre-war platform was rejected, a redesign produced the TR2.  The specification was unpromising for a sports car; a hardly innovative ladder frame chassis, a two litre (122 cubic inch) engine based on one used in tractors (!), rudimentary weather protection and an already dated body but it was a success on both sides of the Atlantic.  On the road, it turned out to be greater than the sum of its parts, easily exceeding 100 mph (162 km/h) when that was something rare and, in the UK, it was the cheapest car which could make the claim.  Not delicate or in any way exquisite to drive ("agricultural" the usual description, perhaps a nod to the tractor engine), its characteristics were predictable by the standards of the time and it was soon effective in competition.  Over eight-thousand were built.

Triumph TR3 (1955-1962).

Essentially an updated TR2, the TR3 would be upgraded throughout its life in three identifiable generations although the factory regarded the changes as normal product development and never used different designations to distinguish between them (in the collector car market they're known as TR3, TR3A (1957) & TR3B (1962)).  Although still lacking many of the civilizing accruements buyers would soon expect, in its time the TR3 was a great sales hit and was campaigned successfully both by the factory teams and privateers in just about every category of competition for which it was eligible.  The advantages of using the tractor engine had become apparent in the TR2: the thing was both tuneable and close to indestructible if run by the book.  In the TR3, the usual English route to power (bigger carburetors, bigger valves, bigger ports and a more radical camshaft) was followed and 100 bhp (75 kw) was achieved.  Disk brakes, first used on the Factory Le Mans TR2s, were added to all but the earliest TR3s and the driving experience, despite the addition of rack and pinion steering, though offering nothing like the precision of the Italian competition, was rewarding if a little brutish (although the thing had gained respect and was now rarely called "agricultural").  Almost seventy-five thousand were built.

Triumph TRS with "sabrina" engine, Le Mans, 1960.

Like the TR2, the TR3 was a popular choice as a race car but by the late 1950s, the competitive cars from Britain, Italy and the US had been developed well beyond what the TR2 had tended to face earlier in the decade.  For various reasons, it wasn’t easy for European manufacturers to pursue the path to power and performance by adopting the American approach of big displacement so they chose the alternative: greater specific efficiencies & higher engine speeds.  In Italy, as early as 1954 Alfa Romeo had proved the once exotic double overhead camshaft (DOHC) configuration was viable in relatively low-cost, mass-production machines and even in England, MG’s MGA Twin Cam had been released, short-lived though it was.  Triumph’s cars had enjoyed much success, both in the marketplace and on racetracks but their engines were based on one used in a tractor and while legendary robust, it was tuneable only up to a point and that point had been reached, limiting its potential in competition.  The solution was a DOHC head atop the old tractor mill and this the factory prepared for their racing team to run in the 1959 Le Mans 24 Hour classic, naming the car in which it was installed the TR3S, suggesting some very close relationship with the road-going TR3 although it really was a prototype and a genuine racing car.  The engine used at Le Mans was called the “sabrina”.

Sabrina in some characteristic poses.

Norma Ann Sykes' (1936–2016 and better known by her stage name: Sabrina)  early career was as a model, sometimes in various stages of undress, but it was when in 1955 she was cast as a stereotypical “dumb blonde” in a television series she achieved national fame.  On stage or screen, she remained a presence into the 1970s and although without great critical acclaim although the University of Leeds did confer an honorary D.Litt (Doctor of Letters) for services to the arts so there was that.

The Le Mans campaigns with the sabrina Engine: TR3S (1959, left), TRS (1960, centre) and the TRS team crossing the line in formation for what was a "staged  photo-opportunity", none of the cars having completed the requisite number of laps to be classified a "finisher" (1960, right).  In 1961, all three went the distance, taking the "Teams Prize".  

Some resemblance in the mind's eye of an engineer: Sectional view of the sabrina.

The engine's original project code was 20X but an engineer's chance remark at the assembly bench caught on so "sabrina" it became.  Anatomically, the engineers were of course about right because the front sectional view of the sabrina engine’s internals do align with what Dr Vera Regitz-Zagrosek (b 1953; Professor of Cardiology at the University of Zurich), describes as “the bikini triangle”, that area of the female human body defined by a line between the breasts and from each breast down to the reproductive organs; it’s in this space that is found all the most obvious anatomical differences between male & female although the professor does caution that differences actually exist throughout the body, down to the cellular level.

Triumph used the sabrina engine for three consecutive years at Le Mans, encountering some problems but the reward was delivered in 1961 when all three cars completed the event with one finishing a creditable ninth, the trio winning that year’s team prize.  Satisfied the engine was now a reliable power-plant, the factory did flirt with the idea of offering it as an option in the TR sports cars but, because the differences between it and the standard engine were so great, it was decided the high cost of tooling up for mass production was unlikely to be justified, the projected sales volumes just not enough to amortize the investment.  Additionally, although much power was gained by adding the DOHC Hemi head, the characteristics of its delivery were really suited only to somewhere like Le Mans which is hardly typical of race circuits, let alone the conditions drivers encounter on the road.  As a footnote in Triumph’s history, it was the second occasion on which the factory had produced a DOHC engine which had failed to reach production.  In 1934 the company displayed a range-topping version of their Dolomite sports car (1934-1940), powered by a supercharged two litre (121 cubic inch), DOHC straight-8.  The specification was intoxicating and the lines rakish but, listed at more than ten times the price of a small family car, it was too ambitious for the troubled economy of the 1930s and only three were built.

Triumph TR4 (1962-1965).

Although the chassis and drive-train of the TR3 substantially were carried over, the TR4 received a new body, designed in Italy by Giovanni Michelotti's (1921–1980) design house, continuing what would prove a lucrative association for both the Italians and the British.  Modernised in function as well as form, the TR for the first time enjoyed wind-up windows and much improved ventilation as well as the novelty of the option of a kind of targa top, the first on the market although it was Porsche which decided to copyright the name.  To compensate for the increased weight, the engine was bored out to 2.1 litres (128 cubic inches) but the smaller version remained a factory option for those wished to run in competitions under the FIA’s 2.0 litre (122 cubic inch) rules, although, being a tractor engine and thus using wet cylinder liners, it wasn’t difficult for owners of a 2.1 to revert.

A 1965 Triumph TR4A appeared in Netflix's Lindsay Lohan film Irish Wish (2024) and the IMCDB (Internet Movie Cars Database) confirmed it was registered in Ireland (ZV5660, VIN:STC65CT17130C) as running the 2.1 litre version (17130C) of the engine.  The Triumph 2.1 is sometimes listed as a 2.2 because, despite an actual displacement of 2138 cm³, in some places the math orthodoxy is ignored and a "round up" rule applied, something done usually in jurisdictions which use displacement-based taxation or registration regimes, the "rounding up" sometimes having the effect of "pushing" a vehicle into a category which attracts a higher rate.  The lack of the "IRS" (independent rear suspension) badge on the trunk (boot) lid indicates the use of the live rear axle.

This time Triumph did create official version names as the specification changed.  In 1965, the TR4A was released, marked by a small power increase but, more significantly, independent rear suspension which necessitated a change to the rear of the chassis frame.  Improvements in tyre technology had increasingly exposed the limitations of the TR4’s live axle which, mounted on such a low chassis, offered only limited wheel travel, something disguised by the grip of the TR2-era tyres which tended predictably to slide but when fitted with modern radial-ply tyres, the loss of grip could be sudden and unexpected.  The IRS greatly improved the ride and raised the limits of adhesion, making for a safer road car but those using a TR4 in competition still opted for the live axle which offered more control in the hands of experts who preferred to steer with the throttle.  Many TR4As were actually fitted with the live axle, re-designed to accommodate the changes to the chassis.  Facing competition from much improved MG and Austin-Healy roadsters, sales suffered somewhat with around forty-thousand TR4s built.

Triumph TR5 (1967-1968 and sold in North America as the TR-250).

Visually almost identical to the TR4, the TR5 benefited from being powered by a 2.5 litre (153 cubic inch) version of Triumph’s (again almost indestructible) straight-six and in a first for a volume British manufacturer, it used Lucas mechanical fuel injection, tuned to a healthy 150 bhp (112 kw) (although even at the time many thought this seemed a little optimistic).  Again available with the clever targa (usually called the “Surrey Top” although the factory insisted the “surrey” was merely a the roof part of the whole system), the bigger engine meant the TR5 became a genuine 120 mph (195 km/h) car.

For the first time (and a harbinger of what lay ahead), TR5s built for the North American market differed significantly from most of those destined for the rest of the world.  Instead of fuel-injection, the new world cars breathed through a pair of Zenith-Stromberg carburetors and, to mark the debut of the 2.5 litre six, were named TR-250.  The combination of the loss of the fuel injection and the addition of the early anti-emissions plumbing did sacrifice power, the TR-250 rated at 111 bhp (81 kW) but performance was still slightly better than the TR4, the feeling being the US car’s official power was likely a more accurate number than the 150 bhp claimed for the TR5.  The TR5 was in production for only a short time and fewer than three-thousand were built, the importance of the US market illustrated by almost eight and a half thousand TR-250s being shipped during the same time.  The IRS was now fitted to all cars.

Triumph TR6 (1968-1976).

Like its predecessor, the TR6 was built with both fuel injection and carburetors but all were labelled TR6 regardless of destination, the US market and those with less developed infrastructure missing out on the newer system.  The car itself was almost unchanged underneath but new front and rear styling was grafted onto the TR4/TR5 centre section, styled this time by Karmann of Germany so it was English underneath, Italian in the middle and German to the front and rear.  The targa top was retired, replaced by a hardtop designed in-house and the restyle, universally praised as ruggedly handsome, was well received.

Although the factory labelled the whole run as TR6, such were the variations over the years that Triumph nerds differentiate several (informal) versions, some based on detail differences and some on significant changes in specification.  All models produced for the North-American market used carburetors (the mechanical fuel-injection system unable to comply with the more onerous emission rules), delivering 104 bhp (78 kw) and this configuration was used also in some export markets because of anticipated difficulties in servicing the Lucas equipment in countries with a less developed infrastructure.  The home market and most other export cars used fuel injection which, again rated at 150 bhp, delivered almost identical performance to the TR5.  In 1972, the fuel-injected cars were re-tuned with a milder camshaft, lower compression ratio and smaller inlet valves, the factory revising the claimed power to 125 bhp (94 kw) although performance barely suffered, hinting the new claim might be more accurate than the old.  The engine revisions suited the motoring conditions of the day, traffic volumes now much heavier and the re-tuned engine delivered its power over a wider range, the slight sacrifice in top-end performance noticed by few.

A home market 1974 TR6 in magenta, one of the more appealing of the wide range of color choices (some of the hues of brown not fondly remembered) British Leyland offered during the 1970s (left) and a 1976 US market TR6 (right).  The revised detailing at the front was a consequence of needing to install more substantial bumpers to comply with legislation, the rubber dagmars fitted also at the rear.  Unusually for the smaller British roadsters of the era, air-conditioning was sometimes fitted to the US market cars.

Compared with genuinely modern sports cars like the Datsun 240Z or even the flawed Jensen-Healy, the TR6 was antiquated but so immensely satisfying to drive, buyers seemed not to mind and sales remained strong, the end coming only because it was clear it soon would no longer be possible to modify the thing to meet upcoming US legislation.  At the end of its seven year run, it was the most successful of the traditional TRs, well over ninety-thousand made of which over eighty-three thousand were exported.  Although the TR6 was not visually recognizable as a descendent of the TR2, one thing remained constant throughout: scuttle shake.

Unique

Unique (pronounced yoo-neek)

(1) Existing as the only one or as the sole example; single; solitary in type or characteristics; the embodiment of unique characteristics; the only specimen of a given kind.

(2) Having no like or equal; unparalleled; incomparable.

(3) Limited in occurrence to a given class, situation, or area.

(4) Limited to a single outcome or result; without alternative possibilities:

(5) Not typical; unusual (modern non-standard (ie incorrect) English).

1595-1605: From the sixteenth century French unique, from the Latin ūnicus (unparalleled, only, single, sole, alone of its kind), from ūnus (one), from the primitive Indo-European root oi-no- (one, unique).  The meaning "forming the only one of its kind" is attested from the 1610s while the erroneous sense of "remarkable, uncommon" emerged in the mid-nineteenth and lives on in the common errors “more unique” and “very unique” although etymologists are more forgiving of “quite unique”, a favorite of the antique business where it seems to be used to emphasize the prized quality of "exquisiteness".  Unique is a noun & adjective, uniqueness, uniquity & unicity are nouns and uniquely is an adverb; the (rare) noun plural is uniques.  The comparative uniquer and the superlative uniquest are treated usually as proscribed forms which should be used only with some sense of irony but technically, while the preferred "more unique" and "most unique" might sound better, the structural objection is the same.

The Triumph Stag and its unique, ghastly engine

There was a little girl by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)

There was a little girl,
And she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very, very good,
And when she was bad she was horrid.

The V8 engine Triumph built for the Stag between 1970-1978 was a piece of machinery not quite uniquely horrid but so bad it remained, most unusually for such an engine, unique to the Stag.  The only other post-war V8 engine to be produced in any volume which was used in a single model was the Fiat 8V (1952-1954) though with a run of 114 it was hardly mass produced.  The Ford Boss 429 (1969-1970) was only ever used in the Mustang (apart from two Mercury Cougars built for drag racing) but it was a variant of the 385 series engines (370-429-460) rather than something genuinely unique.  More common have been V8s which never actually appeared in any production car such as Ford's 427 SOHC (a variant of the FE/FT family (332-352-360-361-390-406-410-427-428; 1957-1976)) or the Martin V8, designed by Ted Martin (1922-2010) initially for racing but briefly envisaged for the French Monica luxury car project (1971-1975) until a sense of reality prevailed.  What is unique about the Triumph 3.0 V8 is that it's the one produced in the greatest volume which was used only in the one model.

The Triumph 3.0 V8

Engine schematic. 

Problem 1: Some strange decisions were taken by British Leyland and many associated with the Stag’s engine are among the dopiest.  The engineering strategy was to create a family of engines of different size around common components which would enable the development of four, six and eight cylinder units with capacities between 1.5-4 litres, (75-245 cubic inches), the part-sharing offering some compelling economies of scale.  Done properly, as many have often done, it’s sound practice to create a V8 by joining two four-cylinder units but it’s unwise to using exactly the same bottom-end components for both.  Strictly speaking, because the V8 came first, the subsequent fours were actually half a V8 rather than vice-versa but the fact remains the bottom-end construction was more suited to the smaller mill; the bearings were simply too small.

Stagnant.  Blockages and corrosion by chemical reaction.

Problem 2: A second cause of engine trouble was the choice of materials. The block was made from iron and the heads from aluminum, a common enough practice even then but a combination new to Triumph owners and one demanding the year-round use of corrosion-inhibiting antifreeze, a point not widely appreciated even by the somewhat chaotic dealer network supporting them.  Consequently, in engines where only water was used as a coolant, the thermite reaction between iron and aluminum caused corrosion where the material were joined, metallic debris coming lose which was distributed inside the engine; the holes formed in the heads causing gaskets to fail, coolant and petrol mixing with lubricating oil.

Problem 3. The engine used a long, single row, roller-link timing chain which would soon stretch, causing the timing between the pistons (made of a soft metal) and the valves (made of a hard mental) to become unsynchronized.  There are “non-interference” engines where this is a nuisance because it causes things to run badly and “interference” engines where the results can be catastrophic because, at high speed, valves crash into pistons.  The Stag used an “interference” engine.

Engine schematic.  Note the angles of the head-studs.

Problem 4: There was a bizarre arrangement of cylinder head fixing studs, half of which were vertical in an orthodox arrangement while the other half sat at an angle. The angled studs, made from a high-tensile steel, were of course subject to heating and cooling and expanded and contracted at a different rate to the aluminum cylinder heads, the differential causing premature failure of the head gaskets.  It must have seemed a good idea at the time, the rationale being it made possible the replacement of the head gaskets without the need to remove the camshafts and re-set the valves and that is a time-consuming and therefore expensive business so the intention was fine but defeated by physics which should have been anticipated.  Nor did the thermal dynamics damage only head gaskets, it also warped the aluminum heads, the straight studs heating differently than the longer splayed studs which imposed the side loads that promoted warping.  As a final adding of insult to injury, the long steel studs had a propensity solidly to fuse with the aluminum head and, because they sat at dissimilar angles, it wasn’t possible simply to saw or grind the top off the offending bolt and pull of the head.

Problem 5: The head failures would have been a good deal less prevalent had the company management acceded to the engineers’ request to use the more expensive head gaskets made of a material suited to maintaining a seal between surfaces of iron and aluminum.  For cost reasons, the request was denied.

Triumph Stag engine bay.

Problem 6: Despite the under-hood space being generous, instead following the usual practice of being mounted low and belt-driven, at the front of the engine, the water pump was located high, in the valley between the heads and was gear driven off a jackshaft.  This, combined with the location of the header tank through which coolant was added, made an engine which had suffered only a small loss of coolant susceptible to over-heating which, if undetected, could soon cause catastrophic engine failure, warped cylinder heads not uncommon.  Because, when on level ground, the water pump sat higher than the coolant filling cap, unless the car was parked at an acute angle, it wasn’t possible to fill the system with enough fluid actually to reach the water pump.    It seems a strange decision for a engineer to make and the original design blueprints show a belt-driven water pump mounted in a conventional manner at the front of the block.

It transpired that Saab, which had agreed to purchase a four cylinder derivative of the modular family, had to turn the slant four through 180^o because, in their front-wheel-drive 99, the transmission needed to sit at the front and, space in the Swedish car being tight, there would be no room between block and bulkhead for a water pump and pulley to fit.  So, dictated by necessity, the pump ended up atop the block, suiting both orientations and driven by the same shaft that drove the distributor and oil pump (and would have driven the mechanical metering unit for the abortive fuel injection).  Aside from the issues with coolant, the drive mechanism for the pump brought problems of its own, the early ones proving fragile.  As if the problems inherent weren’t enough, Triumph made their detection harder, locating the coolant temperature sender in one of the cylinder heads.  On the modular fours, with one head, that would be fine but the Stag’s two heads didn’t warp or otherwise fail in unison.  One head could be suffering potentially catastrophic overheating yet, because the sensor was in the as yet unaffected other, the temperature gauge would continue to indicate a normal operating level.  That’s the reason just about every fluid-cooled engine with multiple heads has the sender placed in the water pump.  To compound the problem, the four and eight used the same specification water pump, which, while more than adequate for the former, should have be uprated for the latter.

Problem 7: This was the eventually nationalized British Leyland of the 1970s, a case study, inter alia, in poor management and ineptitude in industrial relations.  Although the pre-production engines were cast by an outside foundry and performed close to faultlessly in durability-testing, those fitted to production cars were made in house by British Leyland in a plant troubled by industrial unrest.  Quality control was appalling bad, lax manufacturing standards left casting sands in the blocks which were sent for the internal components to be fitted and head gaskets were sometimes fitted in a way which restricted coolant flow and led to overheating.

The lineage of the Stag

Michelotti's show car, 1966.

It was a pity because but for the engine, the Stag proved, by the standards of the time, relatively trouble-free, even the often derided Lucas electrical equipment well behaved.  The story began in 1965 when Italian designer Giovanni Michelotti (1921–1980) had requested a Triumph 2000 sedan, a model he’d styled and which had been on sale since 1963.  Michelotti intended to create a one-off convertible as a promotional vehicle to display at the 1966 Geneva Motor Show and Triumph agreed, subject to the company being granted first refusal on production rights and, if accepted, it would not appear at the show.  The donor car sent to Turin was a 1964 saloon which, prior to being used as a factory hack, had been one of the support vehicles for Triumph’s 1965 Le Mans campaign with the Spitfire.  Driven to Italy for Michelotti to cut and shape, the result so delighted Triumph they immediate purchased the production rights and the Stag was born.  Briefly called TR6, the Stag name was chosen, somewhat at random, as the original project code but was retained when it was preferred to all the suggested alternatives; unlike the engine, the name was right from day one.

Michelotti's pre-production styling sketch for a cabriolet version of the Triumph 2000, 1967.  The concept was remarkably close to the production version.

The styling too turned out to be just about spot-on.  The partially concealed headlights, then a fashionable trick many US manufacturers had adopted, was thought potentially troublesome and abandoned but the lines were substantially unchanged between prototype and production.  There was one exception of course and that was the most distinctive feature, the B-pillar mounted loop which connected to the centre of windscreen frame, creating a T-section.  This wasn’t added because of fears the US Congress was going to pass legislation about roll-over protection; that would come later and see European manufacturers produce a rash of “targas” (a kind of roll-bar integrated into the styling as a semi-roof structure) but Triumph’s adaptation was out of structural necessity.  Based on a sedan which had a permanent roof to guarantee structural integrity, Michelotti’s prototype had been a styling exercise and no attempt had been made to adapt the engineering to the standards required for production.  Although the platform had be shortened, a sedan with its roof cut of is going to flex and flex it did, shaking somewhat if driven even at slow speeds in a straight line on smooth surfaces; with any change to any of those conditions, vibration and twisting became much worse.  The T-top not only restored structural integrity but was so well-designed and solidly built the Stag’s torsional stiffness was actually better than the sedan and unlike Triumph's long running TR range (TR2-TR6, 1953-1976 (the TR7-TR8 (1975-1981) a different platform)), there was no scuttle shake.

Given the platform and styling was essentially finished at the beginning, the initial plan the Stag would be ready for release within two years didn’t seem unreasonable but it took twice that long.  Perhaps predictably, it was the engine which was responsible for much of the delay, combined with the turmoil and financial uncertainty of a corporate re-structure.  Triumph had since 1960 been part of the Leyland group (a profitable bus and truck manufacturer) and until 1968 enjoyed much success as their car-making division.  However, in 1968, under some degree of government coercion, a large conglomerate was formed as British Leyland (BL) and Triumph was absorbed into BL's Specialist Division as a stable-mate to Rover and Jaguar-Daimler.

Jaguar & Daimler: V8s, V12s and missed opportunities

Daimler 2.5 V8.

What became the Stag's engine imbroglio was interlinked with the merger because with the great coming-together, BL had on the books, in development or production, one V12 engine and five V8s, an indulgence unlikely to survive any corporate review.  Jaguar-Daimler, the most substantially semi-independent entity within the conglomerate, were adamant about the importance of the V12 to their new model ranges and the point of differentiation it would provide in the vital US market.  They were notably less emphatic about their V8s.  Within the company, there had long been a feeling Jaguars should have either six or twelve cylinders, any V8 a lumpy compromise for which there’d never been much enthusiasm.  Additionally, the Jaguar was more of a compromise than most.  Based on the V12 it was thus in a 60^o configuration and so inherently harder to balance than a V8 using an orthodox 90^o layout.  Development had been minimal and Jaguar was happy to sacrifice the project, doubtlessly the correct decision.

1961 Jaguar Mark X.

Less inspired was to allow the anti-V8 feeling to doom the hemi-head Daimler V8s.  Built in 2½ litre (2,548 cm³ (155 cubic inch)) and 4½ litre (4,561 cm³ (278 cubic inch)) displacement, both were among the best engines of the era, light, compact and powerful, they were noted also for their splendid exhaust notes, the only aspect in which the unfortunate Stag engine would prove their match.  Jaguar acquired both after merging with (ie taking over) Daimler in 1960 and created a popular (and very profitable) niche model using the smaller version but the 4½ litre was only ever used in low volume limousines, barely two-thousand of which were built in a decade.  Both however showed their mettle, the 2.5 comfortably out-performing Jaguars 2.4 XK-six in the same car and in some measures almost matching the 3.4, all to the accompaniment of that glorious exhaust note.  The 4.6 too proved itself in testing.  When, in 1962, engineers replaced the 3.8 XK-six in Jaguar’s new Mark X with a 4.6, it was six seconds quicker to 100 mph (162 km/h) and added more than 10 mph (16 km/h) to an already impressive top speed of 120 mph (195 km/h).  The engineers could see the potential, especially in the US market where the engines in the Mark X’s competition was routinely now between six-seven litres (365-430 cubic inches) and increasingly being called upon to drive power-sapping accessories such as air-conditioning.  As Mercedes-Benz too would soon note, in the US, gusty sixes were becoming technologically bankrupt.  The engineers looked at the 4.6 and concluded improvements could be made to the cylinder heads and the design would accommodate capacity increases well beyond five litres (305 cubic inches); they were confident a bigger version would be a natural fit for the American market.

Internal discussion paper for Jaguar XK-V8 engine, Coventry, UK, 1949.

Curiously, it could have happened a decade earlier because, during development of the XK-six, a four cylinder version was developed and prototypes built, the intent being to emulate the company’s pre-war practice when (then known as SS Cars) a range of fours and sixes were offered.  This continued in the early post-war years while the XK was being prepared and the idea of modularity appealed; making fours into sixes would become a common English practice but Jaguar flirted also with an XK-eight.  While the days of straight-eights were nearly done, trends in the US market clearly suggested others might follow Ford and offer mass-market V8s so, in 1949, a document was circulated with preliminary thoughts outlining the specification of a 4½ litre 90^o V8 using many of the XK-four’s components including a pair of the heads.  There things seemed to have ended, both four and eight doomed by the success and adaptability of the XK-six and there's never been anything to suggest the XK-eight reached even the drawing-board.  Work on the prototype four did continue until the early 1950s, the intention being to offer a smaller car which would fill the huge gap in the range between the XK-120 and the big Mark VII saloon but so quickly did the XK-six come to define what a Jaguar was that it was realized a four would no longer suit the market.  Instead, for the small car, a small (short) block XK-six was developed, initially in two litre form and later enlarged for introduction as the 2.4; with this, the XK-four was officially cancelled by which time the flirtation with the eight had probably already been forgotten.  For decades thereafter, Jaguar would prefer to think in multiples of six and, having missed the chance in the 1960s to co-op the Daimler 4.6, it wouldn’t be for another thirty years that a V8 of four-odd litres would appear in one of their cars.

1954 prototype Jaguar 9 litre military V8.

That didn't mean in the intervening years Jaguar didn't build any V8s.  In the early 1950s, while fulfilling a contract with the Ministry of Supply to manufacture sets of spares for the Rolls-Royce Meteor mark IVB engines (a version of the wartime Merlin V12 made famous in Spitfires and other aircraft) used in the army's tanks, Jaguar was invited to produce for evaluation a number of V8s of "approximately 8 litres (488 cubic inches)".  Intended as a general purpose engine for military applications such as light tanks, armored cars and trucks, what Jaguar delivered was a 9 litre (549 cubic inches), 90^o V8 with double overhead camshafts (DOHC), four valves per cylinder and a sealed electrical system (distributors and ignition) to permit underwater operation, thereby making the units suitable also for marine use.  With an almost square configuration (the bore & stroke was 114.3 x 110 mm (4.5 x 4.33 inches)), the naturally aspirated engine exceeded the requested output, yielding 320 bhp (240 kw) at 3750 rpm and either five or six were delivered to the ministry for the army to test.  From that point, it's a mystery, neither the military, the government nor Jaguar having any record of the outcome of the trials which apparently didn't proceed beyond 1956 or 1957; certainly no orders were placed and the project was terminated.  At least one one of the V8s survived, purchased in an army surplus sale it was as late as the 1990s being used in the barbaric-sounding sport of "tractor-pulling".  Later, Jaguar enjoyed more success with the military, the army for some years using a version of the 4.2 litre XK-six in their tracked armored reconnaissance vehicles, the specification similar to that used when installed in the Dennis D600 fire engine.             

Jaguar V12 in 1973 XJ12.  So tight was the fit in the XJ's engine bay, even the battery needed its own cooling fan.

Jaguar’s management vetoed production of the Daimler 4.6 on the grounds (1) there was not the capacity to increase production to what be required for the volume of sales Jaguar hoped the Mark X would achieve and (2) the Mark X would need significant modifications to permit installation of the V8.  Given that Daimler’s production facilities had no difficulty dramatically increasing production of the 2.5 when it was used in the smaller saloon body and a number of specialists have subsequently noted how easy it was to fit some very big units into the Mark X’s commodious engine bay, it’s little wonder there’s always been the suspicion the anti-V8 prejudice may have played a part.  Whatever the reasons, the decision was made instead to enlarge the XK-six to 4.2 litres and missed was the opportunity for Jaguar to offer a large V8-powered car at least competitive with and in some ways superior to the big Americans.  The Mark X (later re-named 420G) was not the hoped-for success, sales never more than modest even in its early days and in decline until its demise in 1970 by which time production had slowed to a trickle.  It was a shame for a design which was so advanced and had so much potential for the US market and had the V8 been used or had the V12 been available by the mid-1960s, things could have been different.  The unfortunate reputation the twelve later gained was because of lax standards in the production process, not any fragility in the design which was fundamentally sound and it would have been a natural fit in the Mark X.  So the Daimler 4.6 remained briefly in small-scale production for the limousines and the 2.5 enjoyed a successful run as an exclusive model under the hood of the smallest Jaguar (as well as the footnote of the SP250 roadster), a life which would extend until 1969.  Unfortunately, the powerful, torquey, compact and robust 2.5, which easily could have been enlarged to three litres, wasn’t used in the Stag.  More helpfully, even if capacity had been limited to 2.8 litres (170 cubic inches) to take advantage of the lower taxation rates applied in Europe, the Daimler V8 would have been more than equal to the task.

Crossing the Rubicon

Fuel-injected 2.5 litre Triumph six in 1968 Triumph TR5.

The Triumph six was essentially an enlarged version of an earlier four.  Released also in 1.6 & 2.0 capacities and used in the 2000/2500, Vitesse, GT6 & TR5/6, the fuel-injection was adopted only for the some of the non-US market sports cars and the short-lived 2.5 PI saloon and because of the reliance on the US market, TVR, which used the engine in the 2500M, in all markets, offered only the twin-carburetor version certified for US sale in the TR-250.  Apart from those fitted with never wholly satisfactory Lucas mechanical fuel-injection, with roots in a tractor engine, the pushrod Triumph six was not an advanced powerplant but it was highly tuneable and something the Stag's V8 never was: robust and reliable.  Although it sounds (and would have been) anachronistic, Triumph would have been better advised to take the old four and create a 3.0 litre straight-eight with the power take-off in the centre.  Even with carburetors (certainly for the US market) it would have been unique (in a good way) and doing that while adding a few inches to the nose would have been a simpler and cheaper task than what was done.  A straight-eight Stag would also have reached the market earlier.      

Triumph tried using the fuel-injected 2.5 litre straight-six already in development for the TR5 (TR-250 in North America) but the rorty six was a sports car engine unsuited to the grand tourer Triumph intended the Stag to be and thus was born a 2.5 litre V8, part of a modular family.  Another innovation was that the V8 would use the Lucas mechanical fuel-injection adopted for the long-stroke six and this at a time when relatively few Mercedes-Benz were so equipped.  However, while the power output met the design objectives, it lacked the torque needed in a car of this nature, and the high-revving nature wasn’t suited to a vehicle intended to appeal to the US market where it was likely often to be equipped both with air-conditioning and automatic transmission; the decision was taken to increase capacity to three litres.  Because the quest was for more torque, it might be thought it would be preferred to lengthen the stroke but, for reasons of cost related to the modularity project, it was decided instead to increase the bore to a very over-square 86.00 x 64.50 mm (3.39 x 2.52 inches).  Despite this, the additional half-litre delivered the desired torque but the coolant passages remained the same so an engine with a capacity twenty percent larger and an increased swept volume, still used the already hardly generous internal cooling capacity of the 2.5.  It was another straw on the camel’s back.

It was also another delay and, within Leyland, questions were being raised about why a long and expensive programme was continuing to develop something which, on paper, appeared essentially to duplicate what Leyland then had in production: Rover’s version of the small-block Buick V8 which they’d much improved after buying the rights and tooling from General Motors.  Already used to much acclaim in their P5B and P6 saloons, it would remain in production for decades.  The Rover V8 did seem an obvious choice and quite why it wasn’t adopted still isn’t entirely certain.  One story is that the Triumph development team told Rover’s chief engineer, by then in charge of the Stag project, that the design changes associated with their V8 were by then so advanced that the Rover V8 “wouldn’t fit”.  While it seems strange an engineer might believe one small V8 wouldn’t fit into a relatively large engine bay which already housed another small V8, he would later admit that believe them he did.

Tight fit: Ford 289 (4.7) V8 in 1967 Sunbeam Tiger Mark II.  A small hatch was added to the firewall so one otherwise inaccessible spark plug could be changed from inside the cabin.

It actually wasn’t a wholly unreasonable proposition because to substitute one engine for another of similar size isn’t of necessity simple, things like cross-members and sump shapes sometimes rendering the task impossible, even while lots of spare space looms elsewhere and a similar thing had recently happened.  In 1967, after taking control of Sunbeam, Chrysler had intended to continue production of the Tiger, then powered by the 289 cubic inch (4.7 litre) Windsor V8 bought from Ford but with Chrysler’s 273 cubic inch (4.4 litre) LA V8 substituted.  Unfortunately, while 4.7 Ford litres filled it to the brim, 4.4 Chrysler litres overflowed; the small-block Ford truly was compact.  Allowing the Tiger to remain in production until the stock of already purchased Ford engines had been exhausted, Chrysler instead changed the advertising from emphasizing the “…mighty Ford V8 power plant” to the correct but less revealing “…an American V-8 power train”.

1973 Triumph Stag.

It may have been, in those perhaps kinder times, one engineer would believe another.  However, years later, a wrinkle was added to the story when, in an interview, one of the development team claimed what was said was that they felt the Rover V8 was “not a fit” for the Stag, not that “it wouldn’t fit”, an amusing piece of sophistry by which, it was said, they meant the characteristics of the engine weren't those required for the Stag.  That may have been being economical with the truth: any engineer looking at the specifications of the Rover unit would have understood it was highly adaptable and so for decades it proved to be, powering everything from the Land Rover to executive saloons and high-performance sports cars.

More plausible an explanation was competing economics.  Triumph was projecting a volume of between twelve and twenty-thousand a year for the Stag and, within the existing production facilities Rover could not have satisfied the demand in addition to their own expanding range, soon to include the Range Rover, added to which, an agreement had been reached to supply Morgan with engines for the +8 which would revitalize their fortunes.  The Morgan deal was for a relatively small volume but it was lucrative and the success of the +8 was already encouraging interest from other manufacturers.  So, with Triumph already in the throes of gearing up to produce their modular engines and Rover said to be unable to increase production without a large capital investment in plant and equipment, the fateful decision to use the Triumph engine was taken.

1974 Triumph Stag in magenta.  Some of the shades of brown, beige, orange and such used in the 1970s by British Leyland are not highly regarded but some were quite striking.

This was the critical point, yet even then it wasn’t too late.  Although Jaguar were emphatic about shutting down Daimler’s V8 lines and converting the factories to XJ6 production, it would have been possible to move the tooling and resume building a 2.5, 2.8 or 3.0 Daimler V8 for the Stag.  Rover had found managing a shift of some tooling across the Atlantic not too onerous a task so trucking stuff a few miles down the road should have been possible.  Ironically, Triumph argued their OHC V8 was a more modern thing than the then decade-old pushrod Daimler which, they suggested, wouldn’t be able to be adapted to upcoming US emission regulations and thus would have a short life.  Given the success of many in coaxing pushrod V8s through decades of US regulations, that probably wasn’t true but it had all become irrelevant; the decision had been taken to pursue Triumph’s modular option.  At least a decision had been taken that was final, unlike some British Leyland decisions of the era but it did mean the Stag’s introduction was further delayed.

1973 Triumph Stag.

Eventually, the Stag was launched in the summer of 1970 to a positive if not rapturous reception.  There was criticism of weight of the hardtop and the fabric roof not being as easy to us as the brochure suggested but most contemporary journalists seemed to enjoy the drive although some were disappointed with the lack of power; the wonderful exhaust note and rakish lines perhaps promising more but this was a relatively heavy four-seat grand tourer, not a sports-car.  Still, it would touch 120 mph (190 km/h) and its acceleration, brakes and handling were all at least comparable to the competition and, among that completion, it was close to unique.  A small-capacity V8, four-seat convertible with a choice of manual or automatic transmissions and all-independent suspension was a tempting specification in 1970; to get the same thing from Mercedes-Benz would cost more than three times as much.  Of course Stuttgart would probably have suggested their buyers got something more than three times as good, a not unreasonable point at the time and, given the prices at which 280SE 3.5 cabriolets now trade, the Germans appear to have been conservative in their three-fold estimate.  But it was value for money and had some nice touches, a heated rear window when that was a novelty in removable hard tops, a clever (and influential) multi-function display of warning lights and even, though curiously discordant, the option of wire wheels.

1974 Triumph Stag interior (manual o/d).

All concluded that driving one was a pleasant, if not especially rapid, experience but owning a Stag proved frequently nightmarish, all because of that unique engine.  Before many months had elapsed it was clear there were problems and, despite years of fixes and adjustments, the inherent design faults proved just too embedded in the mechanical DNA.  A change to the Rover V8 might, even then been the answer for the Stag otherwise suffered from little but by the early 1970s, Leyland was in dire financial straits, chronically under-capitalized and without any appetite to invest in a small volume product with an uncertain future.  Perhaps the earlier failure by Facel Vega to rescue the doomed Facellia by replacing the interesting but fragile French engine with a dreary but reliable Volvo unit played on their minds.  An upgraded automatic transmission, improvements to the cooling system and other detail changes to the engine were pursued and even an inconspicuous re-style was thought to warrant a “Mark 2” tag but the reputation never recovered.

Quixotic derivations were built but never pursued.  There were a couple of clumsy-looking prototype GT6-esque (the GT6 was a successful fastback version of the Spitfire roadster which used a the 2.0 litre straight-six in place of the smaller car's 1.3 litre four) hatchbacks which excited little interest and in 1972 Ferguson Research adapted two using their all-wheel-drive and anti-lock brake systems made famous on the Jensen FF; said to work most effectively, both still exist in private hands but there's nothing to suggest even limited production was ever contemplated.  In seven years, 25,877 Stags were built, 6,780 of which were exported but only 2,871 Americans were persuaded, a disappointment in a market of which much had been hoped.

End of the line: 1978 Triumph Stag.

The Stag however has enjoyed an extraordinary afterlife for something once thought a fragile failure.  Seduced by the style, the surprising practicality and the intoxicating burble of the exhaust, the survival rate has been high and most still run the Triumph V8 rather than the Rover V8, Ford V6 or any of the small-block Detroit V8s to which not a few owners once resorted.  Modern additions improve the experience too, five speed manual transmissions have been fitted, mostly to cars not equipped with the desirable overdrive and there's a popular and well-executed conversion to a four-speed ZF automatic which many describe as transformative.  There can be few engines which have for so long inspired owners to devote so much energy to rectifying the defects the factory never fixed.  High strength timing chains, external water pumps, improved radiators, better bearings and (the once rejected) correct head gaskets are now available, the consensus being that properly sorted and maintained by the book, it’s a solid, reliable engine, just not one which can be tolerate the sort of neglect Detroit's V8s of the era famously would endure with little complaint.

The Stag, November 2023 (the date stamp 21/8/2024 presumably wasn't caught during the pre-production process).

The Stag is the student newsletter of Reddam House Sydney, an independent, co-educational, non-denominational, day school, located in the leafy (Sydney code for “rich”) suburb of Woollahra.  An encouragingly professional example of student journalism, the content appears to reflect the generation's interest in popular culture (film, fashion, music, sport etc), climate change, consumer tech products and progressive politics (including the now obligatory trigger-warnings).  The writers take a few youthful liberties with conventions of formal English but that lends the publication an accessible, conversational tone.